“Yes,” said Essie to herself. “That’s quite likely. Maybe the father had an old clunker and was letting his son drive it–particularly if the son couldn’t afford a car of his own. Gerald did have a job at Rose Brothers’ Construction,” she remembered. “Maybe there was some information on Gerald or in the car that led the police to Rose Brothers’ Construction and someone who knew him there directed the police to Gerald’s father. There were various possibilities.”
Essie scowled and stood up and rolled her walker over to her outside window. The snow had stopped falling and a layer of white several inches thick was now glistening on the ground. The bright sunlight made the scene directly outside of Essie’s window sparkle like an icy wonderland. She imagined baby Antonio all dressed up in a bright red snowsuit being pulled on a little wooden sled, laughing his chubby little cheeks off. She tapped her fingers on her handlebars as she tried to imagine what might have happened last night that led to the fateful death of Gerald Compton and the disappearance of his wife Maria. She needed more information, she realized.
Quickly, she rolled back and sat in her lounge chair and pulled out her telephone book. Using her magnifying glass again, she turned to the yellow pages and looked under “Newspapers.” It infuriated her that the telephone company always produced their books with such small print. Holding her glass over the column of local papers, she moved it down the column until she located the one she sought–Reardon Daily Times. Then, with her index finger pointed directly at the target telephone number, she grabbed her telephone receiver and punched in the digits.
“Hello,” she said when an operator answered with, “Reardon Daily Times. How may I direct your call?”
“I’d like to speak to one of your reporters, please. A Bernice McVickers?” Essie moved her index finger from the telephone number to the byline of the reporter above the newspaper article that had reported Gerald Compton’s death.
“One moment,” replied the efficient operator, “I’ll connect you to that office.”
Hmm, thought Essie, as she waited to speak to the reporter. She had never spoken to an actual newspaper reporter before. The idea of it was somewhat daunting and a little bit exciting.
“Watts here,” said a male voice in her ear.
“Excuse me,” replied Essie to the man. “I’m looking for Bernice McVickers.”
“Not here today,” replied the man curtly. “This is Don Watts. Can I help?”
“I … uh … don’t know,” answered Essie. “I wanted to talk to her about the article she wrote about that multi-car accident that occurred last night.”
“Oh, yeah,” interjected the male voice, “That was a bad one! The guy really rammed that other car. Going about eighty, police thought. Oops, sorry. You a relative?”
“Uh, no,” said Essie, now wondering if she could possibly extract any information from this reporter. “I … uh, live in the area …” She reasoned that was not a total fabrication as she did live maybe ten or so blocks from where the accident occurred. “… and I was worried about the safety of … the location.”
“Oh, lady,” replied the man, “I know that corner. From what Bernice was saying the other day here in the office, it was totally the dead guy’s fault. Not to speak ill of the … you know … but he must have been drunk or something. The guy in the other car is lucky to be alive.”
“It was a guy … a man … in the other car?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said, “but I don’t think the police have released that yet. Still trying to track down next of kin. Hey, but if you live around there, you know that corner has a stop sign. I wouldn’t worry if I were you.”
“Yes, thank you,” she replied. “Uh, when will Miss McVickers be in?”
“Probably not till tomorrow,” he said casually, “but with Bernice you never know. Depends on the story.” He chuckled.
“Yes, well, I may try to call her then,” said Essie, “Uh, thank you, Mr., uh, Don.”
The man said, “Yup,” and hung up without another word.
“Oh, dear,” said Essie. “That was no help at all. Well, maybe a bit of help. At least I know Maria wasn’t in either of the cars involved in that crash. So, where is she? What happened last night after she dropped that baby off in the Happy Haven kitchen?” She drummed her fingers on the open phone book.
After a thoughtful pause, she quickly thumbed through the yellow pages and again found the number for the Rose Brothers’ Construction Company that she had dialed earlier. She touched each number on her phone and listened as the number rang at Rose Brothers.
“Rose Brothers’ Construction,” said a pleasant female voice.
“Yes,” said Essie. “I’m sorry to bother you. This may seem like an odd request …”
The receptionist chuckled. “Excuse me,” she said, “but we get a lot of odd requests. Just yesterday, someone wanted us to actually build an outhouse! Can you believe it? In this day and age, with indoor plumbing? Why would anyone want to actually construct an outhouse?”
Essie was warming to the woman who seemed so willing to share private information with a casual caller. Possibly she would share the information that Essie needed.
“That is strange,” agreed Essie, in an attempt to ingratiate herself with the operator. “So, I guess my request won’t seem so unusual then. I’m trying to find out about one of your employees who, I understand, died recently … a Gerald Compton.”
“That’s Harold’s son!” exclaimed the woman. “It’s just horrible! Did you know Gerald? Harold is just broken up!”
“Yes, I can imagine that he is,” said Essie, digesting this additional information. “And what about Gerald’s wife?”
“Wife?” cried the voice on the phone. “Gerald didn’t have a wife! Oh, you mean that woman he met in Mexico?”
“Yes,” said Essie, “I understand that they were married in Mexico …”
“Harold is furious about her! He always told Gerald that that woman was just using him to get her green card! I’m not supposed to know,” she whispered to Essie. “I just work the desk, but I heard Harold and Gerald going at it a number of times about that woman. Harold blames her for all of Gerald’s problems, I think.”
“Why would he blame her?”
“I don’t know, ma’am,” responded the woman on the phone, “I just know Harold and his son were always fighting about her. Mr. Rose said Harold wouldn’t be in today … because of Gerald being killed in the accident. Everybody here is pretty shook up.”
“You mean they all liked Gerald?”
“Oh, no,” she said in an even softer voice, “nobody liked Gerald … or Harold, but, geez they are … were really good workers. Mr. Rose would never fire Harold; he’s been with the company for years, and Gerald is like a … package deal with Harold. Besides, Gerald is a hard worker too… was a hard worker.”
“Uh, do you by any chance know where this … where Gerald’s wife is?” asked Essie cautiously, trying to secure the most important piece of information before the operator’s patience ran out.
“No, I don’t have a clue!” she replied flippantly, “I never saw the woman. Only heard them argue about her. Truthfully, I think she was just a figment of Gerald’s imagination.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because Gerald is … was … a dog,” she said with scorn. “No woman in her right mind would marry him. Oh, yeah, he was good lookin’ and all, but … . Hey, I can’t talk anymore. Mr. Rose is heading this way.” She hung up abruptly.
Essie pondered the treasure trove of information she had just acquired from the receptionist at Rose Brothers’ Construction Company. There was clarity now on some issues. Gerald Compton apparently was the no-good jerk that Maria had told Santos he was. Why had she married him in the first place? Was it just physical attraction? Gerald and his father Harold both worked at Rose Brothers’ Construction and neither were liked, although both were hard workers. Gerald and his father had had some heated arguments about a woman
… apparently Maria, but no one at Rose Brothers seemed to think that Gerald was married. Curious and more curious. However, the major question … where was Maria? … remained unanswered.
Chapter Thirteen
“I thought I had forgotten how to hold a baby–but my arms remember.”
–Author Unknown
Essie was still sitting in her lounger pondering the relationship between Gerald and Maria Compton. She could see through her bedroom door. Baby Antonio was still sleeping soundly. There was a soft knocking on her front door. Essie rose as quickly as her arthritic knees would allow and hastily moved her walker towards the door where she cracked it open a bit.
Outside, Santos stood in his winter jacket, his hand raised to knock again. He was bouncing from one foot to another as he looked cautiously around.
“Jumpin’ Juniper!” whispered Essie, “Get in here!” She motioned the young man to enter. Santos followed Essie inside and quietly closed the door behind him. She scooted back to her chair and plopped back down, pointing to her sofa. Santos remained standing.
“I cannot stay, Miss Essie,” he said, nervously twisting his hands together. “I must get back to make lunch. Is baby okay?” He looked around Essie’s small living room.
“Antonio’s fast asleep, Santos,” she replied, “on my bed. Do you want to see?” She started to rise. Santos held out his hand to stop her.
“No! No! Miss Essie!” he said quickly, “I must hurry. I go to Maria and Gerald’s apartment, like you say. I find key where Maria keeps it. I go inside.” He grimaced and panted dramatically.
“What, Santos?” Essie demanded. “What happened?”
“Horrible, Miss Essie!” he exclaimed. “Everything in apartment is all … how you say? … arrancados … ripped! Like there was a big fight!”
“Oh, no!” she cried, patting a spot for Santos on her sofa. The young man cautiously sat on the flowered settee. “Any sign of Maria?”
“I do not see Maria,” he replied, “but I find sangre … blood … on the carpet, Miss Essie!”
“Blood! Why weren’t the police there?” she asked, almost to herself. “You’d think the police would attempt to check out the residence of an accident victim … hmmm.”
“No police, Miss Essie!” said Santos. “But I do find this!” He reached under his jacket and into his side pants’ pocket and brought out a small blue wallet. He thrust it at Essie.
“What’s this?” she demanded, taking it immediately and opening it. “It’s Maria’s! This is her green card, Santos! Why would she leave without her purse? Do you remember if she had it when she brought you the baby last night?” She examined the card and the remaining meager contents of the small wallet and then placed it on her end table.
“I do not remember, Miss Essie,” he said. “I only think about baby Antonio.”
“Yes, yes,” she replied. “She must have returned to her apartment after she came here and gave you the baby. She probably had some sort of argument with Gerald then. If she left her purse and identification in her apartment, she probably left in a hurry … maybe under threat. Did you see anything else in the apartment, Santos?”
“I … I … see,” he said, closing his eyes squeezing his forehead muscles together in an attempt to recall the scene. “I see Maria’s maleta … suitcase … on bed!”
“She was probably packing … getting ready to leave Gerald!” added Essie.
“If Gerald catch her leaving him, he be very mad, Miss Essie!” said Santos.
“It appears that Maria must have escaped,” suggested Essie, as the two unlikely sleuths contemplated together the possible events that led to their being responsible for the sleeping baby in the next room.
“Yes, Miss Essie,” agreed Santos, “and maybe Gerald, he goes after Maria.”
“And in his fury ended up in that fatal accident!”
“Is possible,” noted Santos.
“But still conjecture,” said Essie, “However, I have some additional information to add that might enlighten the information you’ve just brought me.” She told Santos what she had discovered from the receptionist at the Rose Brothers’ Construction Company. The young Hispanic man and the old woman continued to discuss the possible scenarios that might have led to the circumstances of the previous evening.
“All of these are possible,” said Essie to Santos, who was still looking forlorn. “But, they don’t answer the primary question which is where Maria is. Santos, if we don’t find Maria soon … and I emphasize soon … we will simply have to inform the authorities. If for no other reason than it appears that no one is aware of Maria’s disappearance. What if Gerald hurt her and she ran away and then collapsed from her injuries? She could be lying in a ditch somewhere.”
“I do not think of that, Miss Essie,” replied Santos, now looking even more frightened. “I only worry why Maria not come to get baby. I do not think she is hurt. What we do, Miss Essie?”
“If we report her disappearance to the police …” mused Essie.
“No, Miss Essie!” cried Santos. “Please! I promise Maria I not tell authorities. I promise I keep baby Antonio safe till she comes back.”
“But when, Santos?” asked Essie. “You didn’t promise to watch him indefinitely.”
“I do not know what to do,” cried Santos, hands rummaging in his pants’ pockets.
“Listen,” said Essie, bending forward and patting the young man’s arm. “I … I mean, we … will watch baby Antonio. My friends and I … we’ve developed a system, actually, so it’s really not a problem. But we can’t do this much longer … for Antonio’s sake, Santos! This baby needs care from a parent not from four old women … even if we are four incredibly able old women who were all mothers at one time.”
“You wonderful lady, Miss Essie,” said Santos warmly, grasping her hand and squeezing it. “You and Miss Opal and Miss Marjorie and Miss Fay. You very nice ladies. You very good mothers one time, I think.” He smiled at her.
“Well,” she said, shirking her shoulders, “it isn’t hard to be a good mother to baby Antonio. He’s probably the most easy-going, agreeable infant I’ve ever encountered. My three children were a lot fussier than he is when they were newborns!” She chuckled and Santos joined her.
“I go now, Miss Essie,” he said, starting to rise from the sofa. “I need to get lunch ready for residents of Happy Haven. You come to lunch, Miss Essie?”
“I’ll be there some time after my three partners in crime get here to babysit,” she said. A soft cry sounded and Essie rose and pushed her walker toward the bedroom. “My charge calls.”
Santos remained seated as Essie entered her bedroom. Baby Antonio was awake but apparently entranced with the rays of sunlight bursting through Essie’s bedroom window. He had flung his towel blankets off and was moving his arms and legs with gusto. She scooped Antonio up and slipped him into the walker basket and wheeled him back to the living room over to Santos.
“Very happy baby!” said Santos. “Not like father!”
“Yes,” agreed Essie. “Here, Santos. You hold your charge for a while.” She bent over the handlebars of her walker and pointed to where Santos should place his hands. Carefully, Santos slipped his arms beneath the baby’s neck and bottom and scooped him gently into his arms. “You’re a natural!”
“Baby smells very good!” announced Santos.
“That’s all the creams and powders we’ve been dousing him with,” replied Essie. “Believe me, there are times when he doesn’t smell so good!” Santos laughed and rocked Antonio back and forth. The baby stared up at Santos unwaveringly with big dark eyes.
“Talk to him,” said Essie.
“Hello, baby Antonio,” whispered Santos in a soft voice. “I’m Santos. I am very sorry I cannot find your mama. I try very hard. Miss Essie and friends try very hard. We try to find your mama.” He said these words with a sincere intensity that Essie found moving. Obviously the baby could not understand the meaning, but probably could feel the
commitment and love from the young man.
“I think he likes you,” noted Essie, as baby Antonio made soft noises and moved his head a bit.
Santos and baby continued to bond for a few more precious moments. Then, Santos eventually placed the infant back in Essie’s walker basket and rose from her sofa and headed for her door.
“Thank you, Miss Essie,” he said, hand on doorknob. “I keep try to find Maria. I talk to you at lunch.”
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